Goal Keeper_A Pearson Players novel Read online

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I landed another kick at his leg. “You both spent the past two years trying to get me to break up with Vanessa. Now that I finally have, there’s no way I’m getting back with her.”

  “Fuck no,” Scooter said, resting his feet on the redneck coffee table. “But can’t you talk to her. Maybe if you promised her that you wouldn’t date any of the girls, she’d let them hang out with the rest of us.”

  “You can’t possibly think she’d go for that.” I grabbed my beer from the floor and took a swig, grimacing at the warm liquid. “I’m not even sure castration would convince her to let the girls come over.”

  “So, is that on the table?” Crash asked with a devilish grin.

  “Ass.” I kicked him again for good measure.

  “Couldn’t you at least try talking to her?” Scooter leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Um, she could throw something at me that does more damage than an overpriced glass of wine.”

  Crash chuckled next to me. “God, I wish I could’ve been there.”

  “Come on, man. You owe us.” Scooter’s face turned serious. “You’re the one that dated the socialite from hell for two years, and you’re the reason our party tonight is going to be nothing more than a sausage fest. You owe us.”

  “Fine,” I sighed. Talking to Vanessa was right below picking up dog shit with my bare hands on the list of things I didn’t want to do. But Scooter was at least partially right. Vanessa was pissed at me, and my teammates were the ones who were going to suffer because of it.

  I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and shot off a quick text to the last person on Earth I wanted to talk to.

  Can you meet for coffee?

  Her reply came back in seconds. Of course. I’m available anytime. Just let me know when and where.

  Fuck. 2 at Cool Beans.

  Can’t wait. See you then.

  Double fuck.

  Three

  Luci

  Monday

  Unpack

  Get ID card made

  Hang vision board

  Attend team meeting

  Get class schedule

  Make calendar

  I stared at my laptop screen and frowned at my calendar. I’d known my first semester at college was going to be tough, but facing my actual schedule, I realized I’d underestimated how hard it would be. My academic scholarship required me to take a full load of classes, and being in the honors design program meant that I didn’t have time to take any fluff classes. Unless I counted Intro to Spanish, which I didn’t. After two years of Spanish in high school, I still only knew how to say “Donde esta el baño?”

  I had to cram as many of my classes into the morning as possible so I’d be open for practices and games in the afternoon. That was why the school let athletes pick their classes first. But first pick at my schedule didn’t change how tight my calendar was or that my first semester of college would be a proving ground. If I could micro-schedule my way through the next four months of soccer season, then I had a shot at making this work. Second semester would be loads easier with a reduced practice schedule, but I had to get through the whirlwind of this semester first.

  My calendar looked like a child’s finger painting. Every day of the week was broken down into color-coded time blocks. Blue for classes, green for soccer practice, purple for conditioning and weight training, orange for study sessions, and red for meals. My schedule was a sea of color from seven in the morning until nine at night pretty much every day of the week.

  I added a few swirls around the perimeter and adjusted the color for my meals to a rosier hue that blended better with the others. My schedule sucked, but at least it looked nice.

  My dorm room door flew open, and a frazzled-looking girl stepped inside, dropping a duffle bag and a pillow. The leggy blonde took two seconds to check out the shoebox-sized room before spotting me sitting cross-legged on my bed.

  “Hi,” she chirped. “You must be Luci. I’m Erin.”

  I set my laptop down and stood, suddenly conscious of my broad shoulders and mousy-brown hair. Erin and I had exchanged a few texts over the summer about who was bringing what to stock our dorm, but this was our first time meeting. I’d stalked her profile on Facebook, like any normal person, but her pictures didn’t prepare me for in-person Erin.

  She was taller than me, probably 5’8”, and the tanned, toned legs sticking out of a pair of cutoff shorts made up a good percentage of that height. She had one of those faces that would look good first thing in the morning without any makeup, and her shiny blond hair hung in perfect beachy waves past her shoulders. A tight pink tank top revealed she was skinny in all the right places and definitely not skinny in all the right ones.

  Apparently I’d be rooming with Barbie this year.

  Erin grabbed her pillow and tossed it on the empty bed. “Well, it’s not the best dorm room ever, but it’s not bad either.”

  I glanced around the room we’d share for the next year. It was pretty much the same as every other dorm room I’d seen on college visits last year. Basic beige walls, brown carpet that had seen better days, and one tiny window covered with thin plastic blinds. The school supplied each of us with a metal-frame bed, a cheap wood-veneer desk, and a dresser big enough for my jeans and t-shirt collection.

  Erin spun in a slow circle, taking it all in. “I think we can make this work. Did you have any thoughts on a color scheme for decorations?”

  “Uh…” My brain was having a hard time digesting all of my new roommate. “Not really. I don’t really care what it looks like.”

  “Oh,” she said, her eyes narrowing in confusion as she pointed at my computer screen. “I thought that’s what you were working on.”

  I glanced down at my color-coded schedule. “No, that’s just my calendar. I got my class schedule this morning.”

  “Lucky dog,” Erin said, bouncing down on my bed to look at my schedule. “I wish I could get my schedule now, but I have to wait until regular freshman orientation. All they sent me this summer was my schedule for this two-week honors immersion class, which is absolutely not on your schedule. Aren’t you in the honors program?”

  Erin paused her monologue to stare up at me. God, the girl could talk. At least she didn’t sound like a rambling idiot when she did.

  “No, I mean yes. It’s just…” I took a deep breath and tried to settle my thoughts. Erin had me all kinds of jumbled, and she hadn’t even been there a whole ten minutes. “I’m in the honors program, graphic design, but I can’t do the immersion because I’m on the soccer team.”

  Erin flashed me an impressed smile. “Look at you, triple threat. Smart, athletic, and pretty.”

  I gave her my best yeah-right look, but she didn’t notice because she was already up and moving again.

  “I’m in the journalism program,” she said while pulling random items out of her duffle bag. She gabbed on about working for the school paper and wanting to do real investigative reporting. I half listened while watching, entranced as she emptied her bag.

  First came a laptop covered in dozens of stickers that all overlapped and probably added a good one-eighth inch of thickness. Next she pulled out a turquoise-and-blue dream catcher which she hung on the corner of her bed, the tiny beads and feathers in stark contrast to the beat-up wooden veneer. I held back a snort when a Harry Potter teddy bear came out next. Who the hell was this girl?

  “I mean, I get that they aren’t going to hand me an exposé on the dean, but a girl can dream. Am I right?”

  “Right,” I said, hoping she didn’t realize I hadn’t been paying attention to a word of what she’d said. "So, do you have more stuff?”

  “Of course.” She waved her hand in the air like the Good Witch Glinda about to grant me three wishes. “I wanted to bring up the most important stuff first. The rest is in carefully labeled boxes down in the car.”

  She glanced back at
my screen and jerked her head toward my rainbow calendar. “I thought I was organized. It’s a bit of a requirement for a journalist given all the open loops constantly running through my head. But I think you’ve got me beat.”

  “Thank you?” I said, unsure if her comment was a condemnation or a compliment.

  “Oh, absolutely.” She set a pair of wooden maracas on her empty desk and tossed the now-empty duffle bag under her bed. “I abhor disorganization. It just seems so … unnecessary. You know what I mean?”

  I nodded because I knew exactly what she meant. Why in the world would anyone want to run around not knowing what they were supposed to be doing? Erin was a little kooky, but she was growing on me.

  “Do you want some help getting the rest of your stuff? I’m pretty sure I have an open block on my schedule for at least the next seventeen minutes.”

  “Ha!” Erin held her stomach and literally bent over laughing at my lame attempt at a joke.

  I didn’t know people actually did that.

  “Oh, we’re going to get along perfect,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll get it later. I’m a little particular about my stuff.”

  “Got it.” I could totally relate to that.

  “What I’d like to do is talk about this.” She pulled a folded sheet of paper out of her back pocket and flopped onto her bed while she meticulously unfolded it and smoothed out the creases. “I picked this up downstairs when I grabbed my keys.”

  Erin turned the paper around to reveal a flyer for a freshman ladies mixer being hosted by one of the fraternities on campus. I’d seen the flyers when I left for the team meeting that morning but hadn’t bothered to pick one up.

  Erin grinned like a kid who’d peeked at her presents on Christmas Eve. “You gotta love it when school hasn’t even officially started and we’re already getting invited to parties. So, I was thinking we should come up with a game plan. This is the first social event of the year, and it will definitely set the tone for at least the first semester. Do we go dressed as the innocent freshmen, all wide-eyed and full of wonder? Or do we go full-tilt sex pot, here I am boys?”

  And I’d thought Erin and I had so much in common. “I wasn’t planning on going.”

  Erin’s smile fell off her face. “I’m sorry. I recognize that you’re speaking English, but I’m having trouble understanding you.”

  I sat down and picked up my laptop. “I have a lot on my plate. Since I’ll be spending so much time during the week at soccer, I need my weekends to study and do homework.”

  Erin slid off her bed and dramatically melted to the floor. She lay flat on her back with one arm lifted like a woman gasping out her last breath. “But drunken frat parties are the life-blood of the college experience.”

  “Are you sure you’re not in the drama program?”

  Erin’s face lit up in a huge smile, and she propped herself up on one elbow. “You think I could swing it? I’ve thought about double majoring. Presentation is half of any good report.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Something tells me you could handle just about any major you wanted.”

  “Well, it’s journalism for me for sure.” She sat up and leaned against her bare mattress. “I’ve known what I wanted to be since I was twelve and saw a Lisa Ling report on human trafficking. I mean, she’s out there saving lives and speaking up for people who don’t have a voice. I’d totally own a Lisa Ling action figure, if such a thing existed.”

  I shrugged. “Too bad for the theatre department.”

  She laughed again and winked at me. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t check out all the other areas of study. Have you seen how many clubs and organizations this place has?”

  Erin grabbed her laptop and fired it up. She tapped a few keys and turned the monitor to face me. "I mean look at this bountiful cornucopia of choices.”

  “Really, cornucopia is what you want to go with there?”

  Erin stuck her tongue out at me but followed it with a genuine smile. “Words have power, and the English language has so many good ones to pick from. Why limit myself to long list of options when I can say cornucopia of choices? Or plethora of ponderings?” She made a face and shook her head. “Nah, cornucopia works better. Anyway, just look at this.”

  I hadn’t bothered to check into the extracurricular activities being offered. Why bother when I knew I’d be too busy to go to any? “Which ones are you planning to join?”

  “None of them.” Erin set the computer down and then spread her arms out to the side. “But I want to go to all of them at least once.”

  My first impression of Erin had been free-spirited eclectic, but maybe I’d misread the signs of delusion.

  “Why should I limit myself? A good journalist gets out there and explores the world around her. Starting with right now. I’m going to go grab my boxes while surreptitiously listening in on conversations in the lobby.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” I shouted at Erin’s back as she rushed out of the room.

  Actually it sounded like a good way to get punched, but that wasn’t my problem. My overly energetic roommate had her plan, and I had mine. I double-checked my color-coded schedule one last time and then printed it off and hung it on the wall over my desk.

  Plan the work, and work the plan.

  Four

  Ryan

  Monday

  I sipped at my coffee, wishing I could be literally anywhere except sitting inside Cool Beans. Not that I had anything against the small off-campus coffee shop. With brick walls and exposed beams, it was usually a place I enjoyed spending time. They even kept the acoustic guitar music to a perfect volume so you could enjoy the chill vibes and still hold a conversation.

  But I was dreading the conversation I had planned.

  Glancing at my phone once again, I held my breath and focused on not getting pissed. I shouldn’t be at all surprised that Vanessa was nearly a half hour late for our meeting. The second cup of coffee I’d had time to order would give me the leg up when I finished here and headed back to kick Crash’s ass on more video games. We had to game as much as we could before the real ass kicking started with our first team practice .

  But before that, I had to sit through talking to Vanessa.

  I hadn’t seen her in two months. Not since she’d dragged me out to her family’s home and forced me to rub elbows with all the who’s who of Dallas. For three days, I kept myself from rolling my eyes at all the “important people” Vanessa kept insisting I meet. According to her, the real business deals happened during cocktail hour and garden parties. But I only met a bunch of men and women more concerned with the quarterly stock reports than the fact that half their kids were spending their hefty allowances on cocaine while the other half were plotting ways to avoid getting jobs until their trust funds kicked in.

  From the minute I got there, all I wanted to do was leave. But Vanessa kept talking about how things would be after I got my MBA and how important networking was to our future. The last thing I wanted to do was two extra years of school, taking more business classes I already hated taking. Well, maybe second to last, because I really didn’t want to move back home and work with my dad in his shop, Richard and Son Auto Body. I’d been staring at “and Son” since I was ten, knowing I didn’t want to be a mechanic. I really didn’t know what I wanted to do other than take pictures. But I’d been told enough times during my Dallas trip that photography wasn’t a real career choice.

  Vanessa spent the whole visit talking endlessly about which of the Fortune 500 companies her father had the most connections with or where our house would be, hinting heavily that she wanted to live on the same street as her parents.

  I’d never forget the look in her eye when she talked about throwing our first garden party. As if feeding miniature sandwiches and lemonade to a hundred obnoxious assholes in our backyard would be the highlight of her life. That was the moment I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t stay with Vanessa, knowing
this was where my life was headed. I’d blow my brains out if I had to eat one more tiny sandwich with unpronounceable ingredients that not a single person in attendance knew how to make. These people didn’t make their own sandwiches. They barely wiped their own asses.

  Inviting her to lunch at her parents’ country club was a shitty thing to do. I knew what she’d be expecting. Hell, she hadn’t been subtle at all, pointing out all the exclusive jewelry stores as we’d driven into town on that first day. I’d even spotted a copy of Bride Today on the coffee table. She’d practically squealed when I’d asked her if we could have lunch at the club. Just the two of us. She’d shouted something about calling to make the reservation before running off into the ginormous six-bedroom “cottage” yelling for her mom.

  There was no doubt when she showed up for lunch the next day wearing a new dress and sporting a fresh manicure that she was expecting a proposal. That hadn’t been my intention. I’d simply been looking for somewhere public that I figured would keep her from cutting off my family jewels.

  She’d sat there while we ordered drinks, alternating between smiling at me and scouting the restaurant to see who would be there to witness her big moment. I’d planned to tell her right away, but the place had been packed, and I wasn’t trying to embarrass her. Instead I sat through a grueling lunch while she pretended to eat a macrobiotic salad and I ignored my burger. She must have thought I was nervous. And I was, but not for the reason she thought. When the waiter had finally cleared our plates and the club was emptying out, I knew it was now or never.

  To say she took the breakup poorly was an understatement. I could still hear her shrieks of disbelief when I told her we didn’t want the same future. Of course she hadn’t understood why I didn’t want to be rich and have everything money could buy. Sometimes I ask myself the same question. But I couldn’t do it anymore.

  She’d left me sitting there, my shirt soaked with her wine. Watching her walk out of the restaurant, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs, was the last time I’d seen her. Two months later, I still wasn’t ready to face her again, but maybe it was better to get it done and over with. Pearson wasn’t a small school, but with both of us on the soccer teams, there was no way I could avoid her forever.